


The Other Side of Infinity

by maychorian



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 08:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19373230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maychorian/pseuds/maychorian
Summary: Stranded on an unpopulated planet after their ship crashes, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn meet a couple of unexpected friends . . . and an unexpected enemy.Originally posted to ff.n on 12-18-04.





	1. A Beautiful, Peaceful Planet

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfiction I ever posted to ff.n, though it is not the first fanfiction I ever wrote. It is...not particularly good, and I am not particularly proud of it, but I'm too much of a completionist not to cross-post it.
> 
> It's not particularly bad, either. Might be a fun read. Let me know.
> 
> It's kind of a crossover with the original novel I was writing at the time, featuring the main characters from that story. And because I am me, that means there's a kid who has been through child abuse and is now on a journey of healing with a parental figure who is wise and kind and strong. ::shrugs:: It's kind of a theme, what can I say.

Obi-Wan Kenobi strode happily through the forest, swinging his lightsaber with carefree abandon at any underbrush that happened to block his way. Finally, a beautiful, peaceful world, ripe for exploring, without a political dispute or gathering war anywhere in sight. As far as the fifteen-year-old Padawan knew, there weren't even any sentient races on this planet. Nice to have a break now and again.

The Jedi apprentice was careful to keep the crashed escape pod in sight, though, the glint of sunlight off gray metal always visible in his peripheral vision. Qui-Gon had warned him sternly to stay in range so the older Jedi could find him. Obi-Wan shook his head in amusement, remembering that brief, pointed exchange when he contacted his master with the pod's limited comm equipment half an hour ago.

"No, Master, I'm not injured," Obi-Wan said over the crackling and buzzing of the comm. Their escape pods must have landed quite a distance apart—Obi-Wan could not hear words through their bond, as he usually could, only a diffuse sense of his master's emotions. Which were currently worry, frustration, and irritation, tinged now with relief as his Padawan's words reached him.

"And . . . activated . . . signal beacon . . . Wan?" Qui-Gon's words came through blurred by distance and the limited power of the pod.

"Yes, Master, I've activated the signal beacon in the pod and boosted the power as far as it will go. The power cells won't last more than a couple of days at this level."

". . . coming to . . . you . . . Do  _not_  wander off, Pada . . . n't want you getting . . . or hurt."

Obi-Wan refrained from rolling his eyes, then realized that Qui-Gon couldn't see him and went ahead with the rolling. "I promise to be careful, Master. You don't have to worry about me."

"Don't roll . . . eyes at me, cheeky little Pad . . .!" Qui-Gon scolded good-naturedly. ". . . ust stay in sight . . . pod at . . . imes."

Obi-Wan grinned ruefully. His master knew him very well indeed. "Have you contacted the Temple yet?" Obi-Wan's own long-range comlink had been dropped in the hurry to get off the doomed starship, which was why he'd had to resort to the pod's limited resources.

The young Jedi frowned suddenly. They hadn't been able to figure out what was going wrong on the tiny transport ship when klaxons started to wail and it dropped out of hyperspace, then began an uncontrollable nose-dive toward the green planet below. All the controls had been dead and unresponsive, sparks flying from the very walls. Fortunately only Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were aboard, returning to Coruscant after yet another series of dangerous missions, and the small, one-man escape pods had released without mishap.

"Of course I've contact . . . emple," Qui-Gon responded, his frustration with the situation making him snap. " . . . be here . . . three, four days."

"Oh," Obi-Wan said quietly. Qui-Gon's worry suddenly made sense .Obi-Wan didn't know how many supplies were packed in the two pods, but it couldn't be much. His own pod only had enough emergency rations and water for a couple of days.

Qui-Gon suddenly flooded the bond with a wave of warmth, assurance, and affection, and for a wonder his next statement came through intact. "I'll be there soon, Obi-Wan."

"Good." The Padawan didn't even try to hide his relief.

"Don't worry. Ju . . . stay near the . . . understood?"

"Understood. I have to shut off the comm now, or the power will drain even faster."

"All right . . . Force . . . with you."

"And with you, Master."

After he shut off the comm, Obi-Wan looked around, his eyes brightening. He didn't sense anything that could be a threat, not anywhere within the radius of his abilities. Time for some exploring, then, just to see what this gorgeous, halcyon place had to offer.

Now he tromped up another green hill, enjoying the squish of decomposing vegetation beneath his feet, the air around him vibrant with a hundred varieties of animal and plant life, all growing happily and glad to be alive. It was so perfect here, he couldn't help but be amused by his master's worry. Not just once had he warned Obi-Wan to stay near the pod, but three times.

Obi-Wan grinned, jumping up on a fallen log, then leaping off. He executed a back flip to land easily on his feet some ten yards away, the ignited lightsaber in his hand humming a blurred circle of blue light. Qui-Gon always got these mother-nestbird urges to smother whenever the two Jedi got separated, which happened rather a lot, actually. Then again, he probably had a right to worry. These separations, however innocently they began, tended to finish with Qui-Gon having to rescue his Padawan from one sadistic megalomaniac or another.

One of these days, Obi-Wan promised himself inwardly, he was going to rescue himself, just to shock them all.

Obi-Wan didn't recognize any of the species about him, had no idea even of the name of this planet, but he was sure that he and Qui-Gon could find food enough to keep them going for a couple of days. It couldn't take  _that_  long for a team from the Temple to arrive to pick them up. The young Jedi was content to enjoy this unplanned vacation.

In fact, he reflected, turning off his lightsaber as he gazed around at the huge trees, he could possibly get bored here. If it took Qui-Gon more than a couple of days to reach him, he might even get a tiny bit lonely. He shook his head at himself. Silly. He wasn't a ten-year-old child, afraid of the dark. He was a Jedi, and he was never alone.

"Look out!"

A small, compact body crashed into Obi-Wan's, sending him tumbling over the loam. Startled, he flailed momentarily and almost hit his head on a large rock before regaining control, then let himself slide to a stop, flat on his back. Something grey, furry and growling flew by overhead as he tumbled, missing him completely. Obi-Wan looked up in astonishment—his attacker had come out of the roll on his feet, and was now standing over the young Jedi as if to protect him.

It was a human boy, maybe a year younger than Obi-Wan but considerably smaller, holding a primitive bowcaster. No, it wasn't even a bowcaster—it was a bow and arrow, and it was nocked and drawn, ready to fire. "For the High King!" the boy cried, and let his arrow fly.

Obi-Wan scrambled to his feet in time to see the arrow strike the head of a fur-covered, slavering creature just as it gathered its feet under itself and leapt for them. The force of the arrow's blow knocked the animal from the air, and it fell writhing to the ground several paces short of their position. The boy grabbed Obi-Wan's arm, tugging him away. "Come, we must get to higher ground."

Obi-Wan shook his head dazedly and followed, unable to think of a reason not to. The strange boy ran, long brown cloak flying out behind him. Obi-Wan crashed through the undergrowth, ducking low-slung branches, trying not to stumble over knotty roots. The boy before him ran in absolute silence, deftly ducking the branches, lightly leaping over root and bush. He led the Jedi onto a slight rise bare of trees, covered with short, brown grass and a few scattered rocks. At the top the boy paused, not a bit out of breath, looking about sharply.

He nodded. "We'll be able to see them coming from here." He paused to flip Obi-Wan a companionable glance. "I am Matio, apprentice to Seeker Wari."

Something about the boy prompted a formal response from the confused fifteen-year-old. "Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Matio's brow wrinkled.

The young Jedi grinned suddenly. "Obi-Wan. You can call me Obi-Wan."

The other boy nodded gravely. "Well, Obi-Wan, I saw perhaps half a score of those creatures sniffing about this area. They've left me alone, perhaps smelling the difference in me, but I could tell they were stalking you. I've been watching for a while now, and I had to interfere. You weren't paying a bit of attention."

Completely nonplused, Obi-Wan stared at the smaller boy, into eyes of green-brown as clear and cool as the forest around them. Why hadn't he sensed his presence, or that of the creatures, for that matter? Had he been  _that_  distracted?

Matio shrugged apologetically, taking Obi-Wan's silence for something entirely different. "I'm sorry. I can see that you're a warrior, and you would rather defend yourself. But I was afraid you wouldn't notice the danger in time."

"No, no, I owe you my deepest gratitude." Obi-Wan shook his head and offered a friendly smile. "Your 'interference' is not an insult. I let myself assume there was no threat here, and I wasn't watching properly. You probably saved my life. I only hope I'll be able to return the favor sometime."

Matio grinned suddenly, a brilliant thing, like a gift of sunlight from a clouded sky. Then his eyes sharpened as he stared behind Obi-Wan. "That time may be now. Here they come!"

Obi-Wan whirled quickly, feeling the danger prick at him in the Force, and ignited his lightsaber with a snap-hiss. He felt the smaller boy's shoulder against his, Matio's tension and readiness as he held the bow, another arrow nocked and drawn. Five of the huge creatures emerged from the trees, fangs dripping saliva, long claws digging into the earth. They hesitated for a moment, the bright blue light reflected in their dark eyes, then charged the two youngsters.

Matio's arrows took two of them down before they crossed the short distance to the top of the rise, and Obi-Wan's lightsaber sweep killed the two within his reach. He turned to find the last one, afraid that it had gotten through to Matio, and saw the other boy standing over the fallen creature with a small knife in his hand, dripping red.

They were spared no time for congratulations. More creatures appeared at the edge of the pressing trees, all around. They were surrounded, and it was a lot more than half a score. Matio straightened quickly, pressing his back to Obi-Wan's, already reaching over his shoulder for another arrow. "Maker, be with us," the boy murmured.

Obi-Wan nodded, adding his own wish for safety to the soft prayer. And then the creatures charged.

He felt Matio drawing and releasing his bow, again and again and again, and wished briefly that he had some sort of blaster. But soon enough the animals on this side of the clearing were within his lightsaber's reach. Obi-Wan held his ground, determined to protect the boy at his back, but that limited his options for movement and footwork. He had to rely on his quickness and agility, sometimes leaping slightly forward, sometimes lunging from side to side, always staying as close to Matio as possible.

He could sense Matio's answering determination, as well, determination to protect Obi-Wan, to keep the beasts back from the top of the rise. The archer's hands moved too swiftly for Obi-Wan's eyes to follow, even if he'd been looking at the other boy, which he wasn't. Arrow after arrow sped through the air, and each took a predator's life. Together, the two apprentices were succeeding, were driving away the vicious creatures.

All too quickly, the equation of the deadly battle changed. "Fewmets," Matio muttered. "Obi-Wan, I'm out of arrows."

Without pausing Obi-Wan turned, whirling his lightsaber, and took out the animal leaping for Matio's throat. The smaller boy had ducked, somehow sensing the Jedi's intent. His little knife was in his hand again, the bow dropped in the grass, the empty quiver still hanging at his back. They had taken out a lot of the creatures, but at least half a dozen were still in the clearing, lurking at the edge of the forest, awaiting their chance to attack.

Obi-Wan had to turn back to his own side of the rise, flashing his lightsaber in an efficiently swift, short arc to kill yet another grey creature, then back-flipped over Matio's golden-brown head, landing almost on top of the newest attacker. He took that one down, too, and then his fight became a dance.

He leaped and flipped and swung, from one side to the other, all around the crouching archer, taking out beast after beast, sometimes catching one just in the nick of time before it struck the smaller boy. Given entirely over to the dance, he acted almost without thought, his only intention to protect, to repay the gift this stranger had given him. The creatures had sensed the vulnerability of the arrow-less archer. They leaped to attack, only to fall to the Jedi's bright blade. Matio's knife remained clenched in his fist, but he didn't have to use it until the end.

Only one creature was left. Relief beginning to fill him, Obi-Wan let his concentration slip. He landed badly, turning his ankle on a rock hidden in the grass. He stumbled, lightsaber flailing, momentarily off-balance.

The last creature had been holding back, old, grizzled and experienced, wary of these strange creatures that smelled so sweetly delicious, yet had such sharp claws. Now at last it sensed its chance, the vulnerability it had been waiting for, and it leaped forward to sink its teeth into Obi-Wan's throat.

Matio jumped forward with a yell, his knife out-thrust, and rammed himself into the leaping body. The clash was titanic, and both bodies fell to the grass, fur and muscle, brown cloak and slight, wiry frame. Again Matio cried out, in pain this time, and Obi-Wan saw the knife stab the beast's neck, once, twice, a third time.

Then stillness.


	2. Another Universe

Obi-Wan extinguished his lightsaber and fell to his knees at Matio's side, quickly hauling the big, grey body off the boy. There was blood. Quite a bit of it. And some of it was definitely Matio's.

"Where are you hurt?" the Jedi asked breathlessly, not daring to touch the boy for fear of aggravating the injury.

Matio blinked up at him, rather too calmly. "It got my shoulder. Could have been worse. I mean, it was trying to kill me, after all."

Obi-Wan smiled grimly, trying to pull up the archer's dark blue tunic to get at the wound. It was the left shoulder—the fabric there was torn and bloodied, and he caught a glimpse of the ravaged flesh beneath it. Matio grimaced. "Hold, I'll get out of it myself."

His tunic was different than Obi-Wan's, than any garment the Jedi had seen. There were lacings at the neck, a crisscross pattern down the chest. With his right hand Matio loosened these, pulling out the neck of the tunic and carefully drawing it away from the injured shoulder, a hiss of pain escaping his lips. He folded the ripped fabric down, giving Obi-Wan a good look at the bite marks on his upper arm. The archer himself glanced at the shoulder, then turned his face away.

Obi-Wan swallowed. It looked nastily painful—not a simple cut as from a vibroblade, but a mess of puncture marks and gashes, as if someone had hit the boy with a spiked mallet. At least it wasn't bleeding too badly; no arteries had been ruptured, apparently.

Obi-Wan tore long strips from the hem of his Jedi robe, ignoring Matio's faint protests, and wrapped the shoulder as well as he could, trying not to pain the boy more. "I'm sorry, Matio. I let my guard slip. It's my fault you were hurt."

Matio's face creased in puzzlement. "You saved my life."

"And you saved mine, at least twice. No—more than that."

"Then how many times did you save mine?" The boy grinned suddenly, that same sunny smile, strangely bright against the paleness of his face, the pain around his eyes. "I'd say we're about even, wouldn't you?"

Obi-Wan laughed. "Yes, I suppose we are." He tied off the rough bandage with gentle firmness, hoping it would hold. "Do you think you can walk? There ought to be some medical supplies in the escape pod, and I can tend it better. It might get infected if we don't put some antibiotic salve on it. Who knows what kind of diseases those creatures were carrying."

Matio's face creased in puzzlement again, apparently at words he did not understand, but he nodded quickly. "I can walk. It's just my shoulder."

Obi-Wan helped the smaller boy to his feet. Despite his brave words the young archer swayed, face paling further. Wordlessly, Obi-Wan put his shoulder under Matio's good arm, wrapping his arm around the slender torso.

Then he stared around the small clearing littered with furry grey bodies, panic suddenly rising in his throat. He had gotten out of sight of the pod. Qui-Gon had  _warned_  him not to get out of sight of the pod. The running and the fight had turned him around, and he didn't know where he was.

"That way." Matio lifted his left forearm, careful not to move the shoulder, and pointed across and to Obi-Wan's right. "What did you call it? The escape pod? It's that way."

Obi-Wan nodded tightly, in relief, and led them away, threading a path between the fallen bodies, trying not to jar the other boy's shoulder. Slowly they made their way through the forest to the pod, occasionally pausing as Matio took stock of the area, then pointed again. They were farther away than Obi-Wan had thought, and by the time they reached the area of trees splintered and undergrowth crushed by the fall of the pod, Matio's steps were faltering and twilight-grey was beginning to steal over the world.

Obi-Wan carefully lowered Matio down to sit next to the pod, then slipped inside. He found an emergency med kit and a bottle of water. The comm caught his eye and he stared wistfully at it for a moment, wanting to tell Qui-Gon of his adventure, of this strange boy and the battle they had fought, but he couldn't risk draining the power more. Tentatively he reached out through the bond, but they were still too far apart for words. He sent the older Jedi a burst of excitement, energy, I-have-something-to-tell-you jitteriness, and Qui-Gon replied with patience, affection, I'm-coming-to-get-you confidence. Obi-Wan grinned and hurried out into the deepening evening.

Matio was shivering, his face grey, eyes dilated. Obi-Wan frowned. The injuries weren't terribly serious, but shock could kill the boy. He pulled the archer's cloak around him, then took off his robe and covered him with that, too. Matio's slender fingers gripped the double thickness and pulled it to his chest. He tried to smile at the Jedi, and did not succeed at all well. "Fire," he whispered.

"What?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Need . . . a fire."

Obi-Wan nodded. He surveyed the area critically. The ground beside the pod was blackened by the burst of fire from the landing jets, and the vegetation around was green and moist. No hazard of forest-fire, then. He hurried into the trees, intending to gather as much dry wood as he could while the light lasted.

He had brought back two armfuls and was hurrying back with a third when the first faint flames licked the grey twilight, bright and comforting. Matio had not waited for him to use the fire-starting rod, but had gotten the fire going on his own, Obi-Wan didn't know how. He set the wood down in their small stockpile and looked it over assessingly. It might last the night. If not, he would get more.

Matio sat by the fire, now blazing quite well. His face looked better in the warm light, more relaxed, and his eyes seemed clear again. He looked up at Obi-Wan, not shivering, not clutching the robe and cloak to himself anymore.

Obi-Wan crouched beside him. "How did you get it going?"

The young archer gave him a puzzled glance. "How does anyone start a fire? Flint." He showed Obi-Wan the two rocks in his hand, dark and hard, chipped from striking each other.

The Jedi had read about that kind of thing, but didn't think any planet, even those farthest out on the Outer Rim, still used such methods. "Can you show me? I've never seen it before."

Matio held one flint rock firm in his left hand and struck it with the other, holding both at a certain angle so that sparks flew off. "You have to start with some kind of tinder, like shredded bark or dried grass, then add twigs, then larger pieces, until you build it up big enough for the logs. I've built many, many fires out in the woods, though I know some townsfolk who have never done it once."

Obi-Wan nodded and settled back into a sitting position, his back against the metal side of the pod. He realized that Matio had an accent he'd never heard, not in any of his travels. It was a pleasant lilt, light and easy on the ears. He wondered if Qui-Gon would know it. "Do you need to get back to your parents or anything? I didn't even think of that when I decided to bring you back to the pod, and it took a lot longer than I thought it would. Will you get in trouble for staying out in the woods all night?"

Matio smiled, though Obi-Wan was not sure he understood all of the humor in that small, narrow face. Slowly, he shook his head. "My mother is dead, and my father disowned me. The Seeker is my family now, and I don't know where he is right now."

"The Seeker?"

"Yes. Seeker Wari." Matio's eyes seemed to lose focus, staring away into the fire. "Wari. He is my guardian and teacher. I am his apprentice. Someday I'll be a Seeker, too."

Obi-Wan's mind swirled with questions. He decided to take it slowly, one step at a time. "What is a Seeker?"

Matio chuckled softly, his eyes nostalgic, far away. "Oh, many, many things. We are warriors, but also teachers, lawmen, diplomats, and healers. Wanderers. We go where we are needed, and sometimes we must fight very hard to do what needs to be done."

Obi-Wan grinned widely. "That sounds a lot like a Jedi."

"Yes, I wondered about those strange words. You are a Jedi . . . Padawan? Was that the word you used?"

The Padawan nodded. "It means apprentice. I am a Jedi apprentice. We, too, are warriors, but much more often, we only try to keep the peace."

"That is right. That's the way the High King would want it."

"My master's name is Qui-Gon Jinn," Obi-Wan continued, unconsciously hugging himself. "We were separated when our starship crashed, but he's coming to find me."

"Starship?" Matio's voice was soft, dreamy. "I saw you fall from the sky, but I didn't realize you were among the stars. A ship that sails the stars. That must be marvelous."

Obi-Wan glanced sharply at the other boy. He was still pale, nodding, leaning bonelessly against the pod. "I'd better take care of your shoulder now. I hope you don't get a fever or anything."

He moved to Matio's left side, picking up the med kit, pressing the water bottle into the boy's limp hands. "Drink. Your body needs fluids."

Matio drank absently. He let Obi-Wan peel away the robe, then the cloak, then gently pull the tunic over his head. The rough bandage was soaked through with blood, and some of it had dried, sticking to the skin. Obi-Wan sucked in a breath when he tried to move it, realizing that this was going to be harder than he'd thought. Matio flinched but did not try to pull away, his gaze still on the fire.

Obi-Wan took the water back and carefully poured some on the bandage, trying to loosen it gently. "How did you get separated from your master, this Seeker Wari?" he asked, hoping to take the boy's mind off the pain. "He must be looking for you."

"It's a long story," Matio said quietly. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his good arm around them. "But yes, I'm sure he's doing everything in his power to find me."

"Long story, huh?" Obi-Wan said lightly, trying again with the bandage. A corner came up at his questing tug, peeling away slowly. "Well, here we are by a fire. Long stories are always best told by fires."

Matio turned his head and laid his cheek on his knees, looking at Obi-Wan frankly. His eyes were clear, lucid. "You're probably in danger, just being with me. I shouldn't have let you bring me back here. Solma won't care that you had nothing to do with it. If you're with me, he'll do the same to you."

Obi-Wan blinked in confusion. "I think you skipped some of the story," he said, keeping his tone light. The bandage was started to come up, now. He turned his eyes back to it, still keeping his ears open to Matio. "Who is Solma, and why are you in danger from him?"

Matio still stared fixedly at Obi-Wan's face. He was quiet for a long time, and the young Jedi felt himself begin to blush. At last he turned his eyes back to the archer's, trying not to sound exasperated. "What is it? What do you see?"

"Your face is different," Matio whispered. He bit his lip. He still looked pale and drawn, but the distress seemed to be mental now, rather than physical. "Everything here is different. I knew he had taken me to a different world, but I guess it's more than that. I'm not even in my own universe anymore."

Obi-Wan sat suddenly, his hand falling away from the shoulder, and stared back just as intensely. "You're from another universe? There's more than one universe? How . . . how do you know? What do you see in my face? How did you get here?"

Matio didn't even smile at the hurried, somewhat inarticulate questions, and that struck Obi-Wan as being a bad sign. "Of course there's more than one universe. We've always believed that there are two, or at the most, three, but it appears that we were wrong. This one is entirely outside the knowledge of my planet. Which is called Madra, by the way. Just thought you might be interested."

Obi-Wan nodded mutely.

"My world is very different from yours, obviously. More primitive, you might say. Listening to you talk can be enough to make my head want to burst. Too many new ideas, too quickly."

Obi-Wan grinned wryly. "I think I know the feeling."

Matio nodded slowly. Obi-Wan suddenly noticed the deep weariness in the lines of his face, the slump of his shoulders, and realized that it had been there all along.

"What happened to you?" the young Jedi asked quietly. "I can tell you're in trouble. Is there anything I can do?"

Matio turned his eyes against his knees with a soft sigh. "You're already doing a lot. Thank you."

Obi-Wan continuing staring at him for a moment longer, then went back to peeling away the bandage. He hoped the boy would continue talking when he felt a little stronger, but he didn't want to push. Matio was obviously in a lot of pain, and not all of it was from his wounds.

And then, as the bandage came away from the top of the younger boy's shoulder, Obi-Wan noticed the scars on his back. They were old, deep, thin ridges caused by some kind of whip, and there were a lot of them. He sat back with a gasp, his eyes searching out Matio's face. Another scar marred his left cheek, newer, slightly hooked and curling. And there, on the side of Matio's chest—it was the outline of a belt buckle.

"Matio . . ." he began, and couldn't finish.

The boy laughed softly, bitterly, and turned to look at the young Jedi again. Unshed tears glittered in his eyes. "I knew you would notice sooner or later. Why did I let you help me? Of course you would see—how could you not? Treating my shoulder. Of course you saw. I must be tired of hiding it, to let you see without even trying to push you away."

"Oh, Matio," Obi-Wan whispered. What could he say in the face of this raw agony?

"My father," the young archer said quickly. "It was my father. Don't think evil thoughts about Seeker Wari. He would never hurt me. He rescued me from that, gave me hope and purpose again. He never asked me to call him 'master,' because he knows that I was my father's slave for seven years. He is 'Seeker,' to me. My personal Seeker. My rescuer and healer. It is strange to hear you call your Jedi 'master' so easily, without fear. That's what really makes my head want to burst."

Obi-Wan's mind reeled. This was why Matio wouldn't let him pull up the tunic earlier. This was why his smile came so rarely, and was so beautiful when it did. This was why Obi-Wan had sensed pain in him as soon he saw him: anguish, secrets, mysteries—and intense, fire-hardened strength of will.

"Matio." Not knowing what else to do, Obi-Wan touched his head, those thick, golden-brown curls. Through all the sadistic megalomaniacs, Qui-Gon had taught him a lot about dealing with pain, about turning torment into triumph. How could he pass that on to this hurting boy, his new friend, so lost in old betrayal? "Maybe you trust me. We fought back to back, we saved each other several times—maybe that's why you let me see. I'm glad you did. Sorry this happened to you, but glad you let me see."

Matio shuddered, and that seemed to release some of his pain, letting it flow away into the darkness, so deep and complete outside the circle of light from their fire. He relaxed, his head laying limply on his knees. "Trust is hard," he whispered. "I'm still learning."

Obi-Wan nodded. "That's all right. It will get better. I know it."

Matio nodded slightly, still not looking at him. After a moment Obi-Wan went back to working on the shoulder, and this time he took it upon himself to talk, to fill the silence and drive away the shadows, telling the smaller boy exactly how he knew that it would get better.

He told him about the sadistic megalomaniacs.


	3. Shining Spirit

Qui-Gon traveled through the night, drawing on the Force to keep him alert, sometimes half-meditating as he jogged in easy rhythm through the deep forest. Occasionally he glanced at the transponder on his belt, checking that he was still heading toward the beacon of Obi-Wan's escape pod, but he didn't really need to. The closer he drew to his Padawan, the more clearly he could feel his presence, and the brighter he burned in his mind's eye. That was a beacon far more steady and reliable than anything given by technology—the fire of Obi-Wan's pure spirit.

He could sense Obi-Wan's feelings more completely now, tell more about what was going on. Obviously, something had happened. He had felt the concentration, the energy, the protectiveness, as Obi-Wan had fought some kind of battle. He wasn't alone, apparently—he'd found someone in the depths of this ancient forest, someone who had become a friend almost instantly. That was good. Obi-Wan didn't make enough friends, too busy being a Jedi and saving the galaxy time and time again.

Now Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's deep sorrow, but it wasn't for himself. This new friend of Obi-Wan's was hurting: profoundly, horribly wounded, not physically but spiritually. And Obi-Wan had responded with compassion just as deep and profound, of course. The young Jedi was sifting through old, hard memories, the worst things that had happened to him over the past three years. He was finding the good and offering it to his new friend, krayt dragon pearls wrested from the heart of agony.

The Jedi Master smiled as he ran, his own compassion touched by this far-away enactment of sacrifice, sharing, and giving. He flooded the bond with all the fiercely paternal pride and love that filled him, buoying his steps so that he barely felt his feet strike the forest floor.  _My dear Padawan. This is it. This is what you do with sorrow. I'm proud of you, Obi-Wan, more proud than I can express._

He didn't know if Obi-Wan could catch the words, but he felt his apprentice smile and send back an overwhelming wave of gratitude and devotion.  _It's because of you, Master. You gave me this._

Did he hear the words, or only imagine them? Didn't matter—Obi-Wan's intent was clear.

Qui-Gon continued into the depths of the forest night, eager to reach his Padawan and this new friend, to share all that was passing between them.

Thus Obi-Wan talked as he washed the wounded shoulder and dressed it, applying bacta and antibiotic salve liberally, pouring in waves of the Force to speed the healing, to destroy any infection that might have set in. He talked as they shared one of the four remaining bottles of water, and each ate a ration bar. Matio made a face at this "food," but said nothing. Obi-Wan talked as they lay down, the one wrapped in a cloak, the other in a robe, each gazing into the fire. He talked as the night settled in, and soft animal cries filtered to them from the surrounding forest. He talked as the cold pressed at their backs, as the fire warmed their hearts. He talked as Matio's tears finally began to fall, and slid in a silent stream into the blackened dirt. He talked until the tears stopped, and Matio closed his eyes in utter exhaustion.

Then, his voice hoarse and rough and low, Obi-Wan stopped talking.

He rolled onto his back and gazed up at the stars, weary in body, mind, and spirit. It was a good weariness, though. He had done worthy deeds with all three aspects of himself. He hoped that Matio would sleep soundly, that his rest would be deep and dreamless and healing.

"Thank you, Obi-Wan," Matio whispered from across the fire.

Obi-Wan looked at him. The smaller boy's eyes were still shut, but his forehead was wrinkled with effort and concentration. Somehow, the Jedi knew that he ought to remain silent.

A faint sigh escaped the young archer. "Until you, I had met no one who truly understood, who had been betrayed in the same way. Our situations are still different, of course—it was not your father who fell from goodness and decided to visit his own pain on you. If your Qui-Gon Jinn were ever to hurt you, perhaps that would break your heart in the same way. But I know he never would, as my Seeker Wari would never betray me."

"No," Obi-Wan murmured, at a loss to understand what that would be like. If Qui-Gon would ever—but no, the thought was too horrible. And impossible, he knew with relief.

"Still, you have . . ." Matio hesitated. "You have overcome. I saw that in your face. It gives me hope that I may overcome, as well."

Instinctively Obi-Wan sent a wave of comfort and assurance toward the boy, as Qui-Gon would have with him, forgetting that Matio was not of this universe and could not be Force-sensitive.

Matio sighed. "Yes, I feel your confidence in me. Thank you."

Obi-Wan's mind hitched in confusion. What abilities did this strange boy have? He shoved away the curiosity, concentrating on what Matio had to tell him.

"I'm sorry I didn't answer you before," the boy went on. "You have a right to know. How did I know for certain that I was in another universe? I saw it in your face, among other things. I saw . . . no, I must explain.

"Every Seeker on Madra has a gift, one that is unique to Seekers, rather rare, a talent given by the Maker. It is called Second Sight, or Second Hearing—a few other names, but those are the most common. By it we See into another dimension, or alternate universe as you may call it, the one populated by spirits. It is called by some the Middle Zone, though that name did not come from our world.

"Most Seekers See only with the mind's eye, but my gift is more rare. I can perceive the presence of Light, and the lack of it, with outer eyes, with physical senses. It is a burden, sometimes—I wish I could veil the Sight and see normally. I also have a bond with animals of all kinds, but that does not matter right now.

"Anyway, by looking in a man's face, I can see whether he is good, bad, or neither. It is like a thin covering over the face, a glow or 'nimbus,' Seeker Wari calls it. Sometimes I have to squint and stare hard to see it, and sometimes it is so bright, or so dark, that it almost blinds me, but it is always there.

"Good people on Madra shine faintly, or brightly, with a gold coloring. Lack of Light is manifested in darkness. Sometimes I see both in one person—those are the hardest people to understand, the hardest to deal with. But here . . . it is different. You are different. Everything is different, but I didn't realize how different until I stared into your face and Saw that, that you are not of my world. You don't shine with gold, Obi-Wan. I didn't understand it, at first. You have been so good and kind to me."

Obi-Wan's throat was dry. "I . . . I don't shine? Does, does that mean that . . ."

"No, no!" Matio almost laughed. It was a choking, strangled sound, but full of humor, lightening the young Jedi's heart. "It doesn't mean that you aren't a good person. I understood it, after I stared for a while and the King whispered to my heart. You do shine, but it is not gold. You are good, and the goodness comes from the Maker, as all goodness does, but it is not the same goodness as I see in my world."

"So I don't shine with gold, then, is that what it is?" Obi-Wan felt his shoulders relax. "What color do I shine in your Sight, Matio?"

Matio was silent for a long moment. When his voice came again, it was a faint whisper. "White, Obi-Wan. You shine brightest, purest white. I'd never seen that on a person before. But I know what it is, now. Light lives in you."

After that, the boys spoke no more. Sleep came and gathered them in gentle arms, and their rest was, indeed, deep and dreamless and healing.

Obi-Wan was wakened by the smell of roasting meat. For a moment he lay still, feeling the hard ground beneath the thin covering of his robe, hoping that his body would wake up just a little more. Sith, he always felt sore after sleeping on the ground, and it took him forever to regain full alertness in the morning, but this was bad. His mind was fuzzy, his emotions drained, as if he'd done something last night that was incredibly stressful, mentally and spiritually, the equivalent of a marathon run, or a three-hour battle with all of the odds against him.

Oh, yeah. Matio.

Obi-Wan opened bleary eyes to peer at the early sunshine. Dawnlight still streaked the sky, hints of butter yellow, blushing pink against the new blue. Some sort of small animal was roasting on a spit over the fire, which had been built up from the embers they had fallen asleep beside.

Matio sat on the other side of the fire, doing something with an arrow in his hand. He beamed cheerfully at the Jedi, that rare, gorgeous smile so like the new sun overhead. "Greetings, friend. I trust your sleep was good, soothing to the body and the soul?"

Obi-Wan yawned and sat up, scrubbing his eyes with his fists. His new friend was definitely a morning person. Great. "How long have you been up?" he asked, trying to focus on the young archer.

Matio shrugged with one shoulder. "A while. I went back to the site of the battle to find my bow and gather my unbroken arrows. It's not that far away, really—just took us a very long time to walk here, yesterday. Shot something on the way back for our morning meal—I'd prefer not to eat any more of your 'rations.'" He shuddered at the thought.

Obi-Wan eyed the thing roasting over the fire with some doubt. "'Something?' You shot something. What is it?"

Matio shrugged, frowning slightly. "A rabbit? It looked like a rabbit, in a way, as those creatures we fought looked like wolves, in a way. I did not sense anything that could be harmful to us, in any case. And I'm sure it tastes better than  _rations."_

Obi-Wan was sure of that too, but he still wasn't entirely convinced. He drew his knees to his chest, studying the younger boy. "You sensed it, you say?"

"Yes. That bond with animals I told you about, remember? It is not the same here in this universe, but I can still tell things." Matio's eyes were still fixed on the arrow in his hands. He was repairing the fletching, Obi-Wan saw, straightening the red feathers there, trimming them precisely, tying them firmly down.

Obi-Wan returned his gaze to Matio's face. The boy was not meeting his eyes. "How are you feeling?" the Jedi asked. "How's your shoulder?"

Matio shrugged again, experimentally, touched the shoulder lightly. "Much better. I've never had a wound heal so fast. That balm you put on it is indeed marvelous. And you did something else to it, didn't you?"

Obi-Wan nodded.

"Well, I'll be sore for a week or two, but it won't slow me down much. Thank you for all you've done." Matio finally looked up and met Obi-Wan's eyes. That deep weariness still remained, lurking behind the depths of clear green-brown. His next statement came softly, apologetically. "I must be moving on today."

Obi-Wan blinked with deliberate slowness. "Moving on? You have somewhere to be? I thought you didn't know where you were . . . ." His eyes narrowed. "This has something to do with that long story you wouldn't tell me, doesn't it?"

"Everything to do with it, actually." Matio flushed and ducked his head. "I should have told you right away. I should have warned you of just how dangerous it is for you to be around me. I did you no favors, yesterday, pushing myself into your company."

"You did me a number of favors, as a matter of fact. And you did not push yourself into my company—I welcomed you with great happiness. And as far as wishing you'd told me earlier—just tell me now, would you please? I won't let you part with me until I know you'll be all right. That's a promise."

Matio looked up in surprise at the fierce tone, and he saw the hard determination in the Jedi's bright blue eyes. Sighing softly, he nodded. "I owe you that."

"You owe me nothing. But I am your friend, and I am a Jedi, and I will not leave you alone in danger. I want to understand. I want to help."

So Matio came around the fire and sat at Obi-Wan's side and showed him the newly-healed scars on the inside of his forearm. They ate the rabbit-like thing together, and the boy from another universe told all about how he had come to be here, about the terror and peril that came with him. At last the young Jedi understood, understood Matio's weariness and fear, his need to keep from staying in one place for more than a few hours.

"Yes." Obi-Wan nodded at the end of the young archer's tale. "You're right. You must be moving on. And I will come with you."


	4. Converging Paths

Qui-Gon sensed a sentient presence in the forest ahead and slowed his jog to a quick walk. As far as he knew, this planet, designated G481, had no native population. It was too far away from major trade routes and the Galactic Core to be a good candidate for colonization, and it had no minerals that mining companies could not get more easily and cheaply. A few lumber companies came in once in a while, but usually at a loss of profit, as the effort cost more than the finished product brought, so those expeditions, also, were beginning to die away. Therefore G481 remained one of the very few pristine, almost-untouched worlds left in the galaxy.

So who was this person Qui-Gon sensed? A stranded lumberjack, left behind when his camp pulled out? A marooned space pirate? Another crash survivor? None of these ideas matched the calm, steady persona the Jedi felt. This being had a disciplined mind, not a hint of fear or agitation, only a deep determination to complete an urgent mission, and an equally deep confidence that the task would be finished successfully.

Qui-Gon approached cautiously, uncertain of what he would find, but unable to restrain his curiosity. He rounded a huge tree, wider than he was tall, covered with moss and vines, and found the sentient.

It was a man, human or at least humanoid, kneeling in the bracken with his eyes closed. His hands were clasped in his lap, and not the slightest hint of movement stirred his large frame. He wore plain garments—dark tunic, brown trousers, green hooded cloak hanging back from his broad shoulders. A sword hung at his belt. A big, metal, old-fashioned sword, not a vibroblade.

Qui-Gon circled to look at the man's face, careful to keep a good distance between them. He didn't want to startle the other, or rouse him prematurely from what was apparently a type of meditation. It was a noble face, worn and weather-beaten, but peaceful, dark brown beard trimmed and kempt. Qui-Gon felt an instant kinship with the man, and though he could not have said why that was, he didn't question it. They had a common purpose, he knew instinctively.

Storm-grey eyes opened calmly to gaze back at the waiting Jedi. A brief, cautious smile lit on the weary face. "I am Seeker Wari," the big man said gravely. "Greetings, stranger."

"I am Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn." He nodded deeply to his counterpart, almost a bow of equals.

For a moment longer they stared at each other, studying, weighing, evaluating. Then both mouths opened at once.

"I am looking for my apprentice."

The Seeker smiled more warmly and openly this time. "The High King told me to wait for you, I believe. I have been wandering this world for several days without any idea of what to do. I am not a tracker, and I do not know what has become of my poor Matio. When I finally paused to pray, a deep peace filled me, and I knew that my King would supply a guide. You must be he."

Qui-Gon paused, reaching out with his feelings, looking for and accepting the will of the Force. At last he nodded. "Yes, I am."

Matio protested, of course, but Obi-Wan refuted every argument as he hurried about, putting out the fire and gathering all the pod's resources, food and water and emergency kit.

"No, I don't see that we're even at all," he said patiently. "I saved your life, yes, but it was not the same as when you saved mine. The first time you saved me, you put yourself in danger, because the creatures had been ignoring you until then. You took my peril on your own shoulders, and I thank you for it. The second time you saved me, you were wounded. Not terribly, no, but enough that it will slow you down and pain you for a time. It is my duty, then, to compensate for what you lost in giving me a chance to survive.

"Besides," he said, pausing to kneel at the boy's side and look him in the eye, "I am a Jedi. When we see something that needs done in order to protect or help, we do it. And I am your friend. I will not let you go alone."

"But your Qui-Gon Jinn told you to stay by the pod," Matio said, his forest-hazel eyes glittering with fear and concern. "I heard, when you called him . . . and he, he sounded worried about you."

"Qui-Gon will understand. He would agree that I need to do this." Obi-Wan grinned suddenly and gripped his friend's hand, trying to reassure him. "He worries too much, anyway. I can take care of myself, in great part because of what he has taught me."

Matio offered a tremulous, uncertain twitch of the lips, barely a smile at all, but something.

Obi-Wan squeezed his hand. "I'll be right back. Don't you move."

He slipped back into the pod and stared at the tiny comm panel. It might be possible for him to cannibalize the beacon, pull out a power pack and carry it with him, but that would take time, and they needed to get away. No, he would just have to trust Qui-Gon and the Force to bring them back together.

The comm was already set for the frequency of Qui-Gon's comlink. He keyed it open and boosted the power as much as he dared.

"Master. Don't reply, just listen. I've met a boy who needs my help. His name is Matio, and he is being pursued by an assassin. He was wounded in saving my life, and I feel that I must make up for that. We must leave before this assassin, called Farig Solma among other names, tracks him to this spot. I will do my best to protect him and help him figure out how to get back to his own world. He is sure that we can find a way, but doesn't know how. I know that I'm draining the power in sending this message to you, so the beacon will be useless, and we can't take with us, anyway. But I'm hopeful that you'll be able to find me through our bond. Please acknowledge."

Obi-Wan flipped the switch from "send" to "receive" and waited, not realizing that he was holding his breath. The comm buzzed and crackled. No reply. Then even the buzzing began to fade, and the young Jedi realized with a sinking heart that he had completely drained the power with that short message.

A few seconds later, there was nothing. No sound at all.  _Sith. Oh, Sith, Sith, Sith. Master, did you hear me?_

Still no words through the bond, but here came a big wave of worry and irritation, as well as understanding and pride. Obi-Wan grinned in relief. His half-lie to Matio was proved true, after all—Qui-Gon did understand that he needed to do this. He wasn't happy about it, but he understood.

Obi-Wan jumped outside again, hoping that Matio hadn't left on his own out of a sense of nobility, trying to spare the young Jedi from the danger of his presence. He had certainly seemed ready to take off on his own. To his relief, the younger boy still sat where he had left him, hugging his knees to his chest, staring into the depths of the forest.

Gently, he touched the apprentice Seeker's shoulder. "I'm glad you didn't go without me. Are you all right, Matio?"

The boy looked up, Obi-Wan's own relief mirrored in his cool, clear eyes. "I think I will be. I have to admit, I'll be glad for your company. The past days have been very lonely and fearful."

Obi-Wan grinned and offered Matio a hand up. "My pleasure. How long has it been, anyway?"

Matio accepted the hand and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. He paused to brush himself off, settling the cloak on his shoulders, straightening the full quiver on his back. "Five days? Six? Something like that. It starts to blur together, always running, always looking over my shoulder, hoping to see nothing but afraid that a certain hateful face will be there. Just . . . waiting . . . for him to catch me."

With a rush of empathy, Obi-Wan wrapped his arm around the smaller boy's shoulders and squeezed, trying not to put much pressure on the left shoulder. "That sounds like no fun at all."

Matio shook his head in wordless agreement.

Obi-Wan released him with a sigh. "Well. Which way shall we go?"

The boy glanced around with that sharp look of his, his unfailing woodsman's sense of direction leading him. After a moment's consideration, he pointed, north and somewhat west. "That will be a departure from my previous course, and I think I saw some water flowing in that direction. I'd like a wash." His slim fingers brushed over his dirty, blood-stained tunic with distaste.

The young Jedi chuckled warmly. "Yeah, I'll be glad for a dip, too. Sleeping in my clothes always leaves me feeling grungy." His head came up in a listening posture, and he stared into the distance, eyes unfocused. Matio watched nervously, but after a moment, Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes, that path won't be heading exactly toward Qui-Gon, but it won't be horribly off, either. He'll be able to find me, I hope."

Matio nodded. It was an odd position they were in, hoping to be caught by one party who was looking for them, hoping to evade another. The apprentice Seeker would just have to trust the High King to make it all work out. Matio could handle that. He'd been trusting the King to work out horribly difficult situations for a long time.

"Off we go, then."

Obi-Wan swung the bag of supplies over his shoulder, and Matio led the way into the trees. The archer walked with a felicat's smooth silence, swift and steady, so accustomed to the quiet way of walking that it was automatic. Obi-Wan, too, knew how to move stealthily, but it was different in the forest. Too many twigs and leaves to crackle underfoot, and the rough ground did not make the fluid, sliding gait at all easy. Matio made no sign that the Jedi's occasional noises bothered him, but after a few minutes he paused and turned to the older boy, biting his lower lip.

"We need to leave less signs. Solma is an expert tracker. Here, step on this hard root, and this rock with no moss, and . . . well, just follow me, if you please?"

Obi-Wan nodded. He kept his eyes on Matio's feet after that, and noticed that the boy didn't wear boots, but some kind of leather slipper, tough but soundless. Even with all his skill, Obi-Wan could not avoid the sounds of his boots scraping or squeaking against rock and root. Before too long, though, he began to get the hang of Matio's way of walking. Soon he was able to spare attention to keep from running into low-slung branches and vines, which was good—he'd gotten smacked in the face a few times, watching his companion's feet so closely.

He found himself stealing glances at Matio's forearm, as the movement sometimes pulled back the long sleeve of his tunic, allowing glimpses of those new scars. Obi-Wan remembered the scars very clearly—the sight seemed to be burned in his mind's eye. Still, he barely believed it.

_The scars were newly-healed, shiny, still a raw, raised pink. It seemed that too much pressure might break them open to shed Matio's blood again. A few seemed random, just slashes across his inner forearm. But the majority were in a pattern, a symbol, a five-sided figure with some sort of emblem inside it, cut and cut again so that the mark was branded into Matio's flesh._

" _It is the mark of the Golbora Guild, a league of assassins," Matio explained softly. "In my last journey with Seeker Wari, the Seeker was captured, and I had to leave to get help. I was caught by a man we knew by the name of Farig Solma, the same who had betrayed Seeker Wari and handed him over to our enemies. He . . . tortured me for one endless night, with herbs that clouded my mind, with fire and blade. He broke me at last, and I answered his questions. Some I answered truthfully, but one, I did not. By the King's help I held just enough reason to lie to him. I escaped, and brought back help, and all was made well in the end, or as well as it could be. When Wari saw the marks on me, he wept. He knew then that the traitor Farig Solma is actually Namágol, the Shadowhand, the most elite member of the Golbora Guild."_

Obi-Wan shuddered. Now this traitor, this elite assassin from Matio's world, was on their trail. He had shown no mercy to Matio, a young apprentice, a boy of "fourteen summers" as he put it. He would show none to Obi-Wan, if he caught him.  _So he won't catch us,_  the young Jedi vowed grimly.

And if he did?

 _No._  Obi-Wan would kill the man, if he had to, slice him open with the blue lightsaber that had yet to cause a death, rather than let him torment Matio again. This lad had suffered enough.

" _What does he want with you now?" Obi-Wan asked. "Why bring you here? And how?"_

" _Well, for the first question, that's easy." Green-brown eyes met blue without a wavering within. "He wants to torture me to death. He found out about my lie, and he felt dishonored. A strange sense of honor, but it was violated, and he will take it out of me."_

" _No!" Obi-Wan said instantly. "I won't let him."_

_Matio's lips twitched tremulously, barely a smile at all. "He will kill you, as well."_

" _No."_

_The archer glanced back at his arm, pulled down the sleeve so the scars were hidden again. He shivered as in a chill wind, though the new morning was bright and warm. "I think he must have brought me here because he knew that my guardian would never stop chasing him. He wanted to have as much time as he wanted to kill me slowly, without fear of being interrupted or halted by Seeker Wari. We were camped in the Wilders when he approached, under guise of a simple hunter, his face different than the one we knew. But we recognized him, and we fought him._

" _During the course of the battle he managed to grab me and drag me away from the Seeker, holding a dagger to my throat. Wari halted for only a moment, but I could see the determination in his eyes, and I was not afraid. Then Solma drew a strange amulet from the inside of his tunic, a large red jewel that shone of its own light._

"' _This was given me by Acraled, the ancient enemy of Madra, now returned,' he said, his voice snarling in my ear. 'It is very powerful. Watch and weep, Seeker, and remember this sight, for you will never see your apprentice again.'_

" _Then he spoke words in a language I didn't know, a harsh, dark-sounding tongue. It was an incantation, and the magic in the jewel flared. I saw red light, but also the gold light of the Maker. Of course He did not leave me alone—He never does. We changed, Solma and I, as our bodies were shifted over to this universe. But the magic of Acraled must be unstable and unpredictable, unlike the power of my King. We arrived here, in the deep forests of this world, nearly fifty paces apart. I caught a glimpse of him still holding his knife as if at someone's throat, but he no longer held me. I ran. And I have been running ever since."_

And now Obi-Wan ran with him. The Jedi looked at his friend, the strength and steadiness of the narrow shoulders, the young face scarred by the cruelty of men, the clear eyes as calm and peaceful as an untouched forest. Running for his life, Matio had paused to notice another young man in danger, had risked himself to help. Seekers and Jedi had much in common.

 _This is my brother,_  Obi-Wan decided. A strange thought, yet it felt absolutely, supremely right. Matio was his brother. And brothers stood together.


	5. Swords and Lightsabers

Obi-Wan's message only confirmed what Qui-Gon and Wari already knew. They had to find the boys as quickly as possible. Once the small light on Qui-Gon's transponder faded, and they were certain that the younger Jedi could not hear them, they set off, jogging in easy rhythm just a bit faster than the pace Qui-Gon had been keeping before. Qui-Gon led, following the bright beacon of Obi-Wan's spirit.

"Your apprentice has a noble heart," the Seeker said. "He can't have known Matio for more than a day, and already he appoints himself the boy's guardian and keeper."

Qui-Gon nodded. "When Obi-Wan acts on impulse, it is always to help another. Though he sometimes puts himself in undue danger, I don't have the heart to blame him much."

Wari's smile was sweet and nostalgic. He began to speak of his own boy's actions out of such impulses. It was evident to the Jedi that his companion missed his apprentice very much, and was sick with worry for him. He wanted—needed—to talk. Qui-Gon was glad to listen, and was not very surprised to learn that their two youngsters had a great deal in common.

Gradually the Seeker revealed more about his own world, and told the long story of how he had come to be here, desperate to find his apprentice before the assassin called Namágol did. As Qui-Gon gathered the differences between their two worlds, he was impressed by how quickly the other man had adjusted to this strange place. He had not seemed a bit startled or frightened by the transponder, the comlink, or the lightsaber Qui-Gon had briefly ignited to cut a path through an overgrown patch of briars. But then, there seemed to be much that was inexplicable in Wari's own world. This magic amulet, for instance.

"The amulet drew on the power of life," Wari explained softly. The horror of that moment, when his apprentice was torn from the world he knew, was plain on the Seeker's face. "My Second Sight let me see as all of the life for ten paces around was gathered to the jewel, like thick threads of dark green. From the trees, bushes, small animals, the very air—even from me. When the jewel had drawn as much as it could, the dark green changed color, to a sharp, angry red, and burst outward.

"I collapsed—some of my own life-force had been pulled into that terrible working—but quickly regained my senses. The area all around was dark and charred, nothing but parched dirt and rock. It was almost as if a forest fire had swept through, but there were no ashes, no remains of the plants and creatures that had been taken. It was a terrible sight. Life had simply been wiped away, leaving nothing behind. I staggered to the place where Matio and the Shadowhand had been standing, and there, I confess, I fell to my knees and wept like a child. I knew what that man was doing to my apprentice, irrevocably taken out of my reach.

"But the High King whispered to my heart, comforting me, and I stilled myself and listened. He told me that I could go on the same journey. The magic amulet was not necessary for me, for I am a servant of the King, and He guides me and sends me where He wills. I prayed with great fervor that His will would be to send me after my boy. And it was."

"As simple as that?" Qui-Gon asked. Who was this King, to wield such power so casually?

"Well, not quite." Wari's deep chuckle was soothing to the ear and the heart. "The amulet had left a residue of power. I was able to grasp that, offer my own life-force again, and follow the path Namágol had taken. Thus I came here, but I was unconscious for quite a long time. When I woke, I could tell that the Shadowhand no longer had my apprentice—I would have felt Matio's pain and distress through our bond, otherwise—but I did not know where they were. I wandered about in a panic for two or three days, then finally remembered to still myself and listen for my Maker's voice. He sent you to me, and here we are."

Qui-Gon looked at his companion with new concern. By this account, Wari ought be exhausted past all endurance, worn by days of unconsciousness followed by desperation and wandering without sustenance in a world completely alien to him. But the man easily kept pace as they ran, only a bit out of breath, even as he wasted breath in conversation. Wordlessly, Qui-Gon pulled the second to last ration bar from his belt and handed it over. Wari needed it more than he did.

Seeker Wari accepted the food and ate it without comment, making only a small grimace at the first taste. Obviously this wasn't the first time he'd been compelled to subsist on unpalatable fare in the middle of a mission.

"Tell me about your High King," Qui-Gon said after a long, companionable silence in which each had absorbed a great deal of information. "And this Maker. Are they gods on your world?"

"They—or He, rather—are the same Person," Wari said. He did not seem offended by the question. "He is God, yes. We have many names for Him, but only because He is far too vast to be comprehended with only a single word. He is Maker, King, Father, Refuge, and many, many others. Redeemer, Friend, Only God, Highest God, strength and help, comfort . . . Ah, but I see I am confusing you. Have you no concept of this Person here?"

Qui-Gon shook his head. "I'm afraid not. There is only the Force." And he did his best, which was considerable, to explain.

"I see," Wari said when the long tale was told. "You do not have a Person here, only an idea that might someday be a Person. This universe has not been liberated yet. Your time will come, I have no doubt. For now, you must walk in the Light that has been given to you."

Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes. We do that."

They continued into the woods, talking, sharing, comprehending as much as they were able. The hours passed quickly, and every step took them closer to their missing apprentices.

"So you saw water flowing in this direction, huh?"

Matio nodded, eyes wide and sparkling. "The stream was a bit smaller down where I saw it, though."

"No kidding."

The two apprentices stood at the top of an abrupt cliff, looking down the length of a waterfall to the deep pool below. It wasn't a very high cliff, maybe even a little smaller than the waterfall in the Jedi Temple's gardens, but it still made Obi-Wan just a bit nervous. He couldn't help but remember a very bad experience he'd had at that waterfall in the Temple . . . .

"Isn't it beautiful?" Matio asked quietly. "I've never seen one this big, just quiet little ones in the Mingled Forest, back home. We didn't have hills enough to get cliffs this big, not there. The water looks wonderful, misting up like that. Is that a rainbow?"

"It's misting because it's hitting rocks down there," Obi-Wan said. "Looks a bit dangerous, don't you think?"

"Oh, nonsense."

And without another word, Matio got a running start and jumped from the cliff, yelling delightedly as he plummeted toward the water below. In midair he curled himself into a ball, still whooping in exhilaration. He hit the surface of the pool with a resounding splash which sent water flying up much higher than the mist at the foot of the falls.

Obi-Wan jerked back involuntarily, then leaned forward to look over, searching the water for a sign of his friend. After only a moment Matio bobbed up, laughing, golden-brown curls darkened by the water and hanging in his eyes. "Come in, Obi-Wan! It's as wonderful as it looks!"

The young Jedi sat back on his heels, chuckling a little in relief and wonder. He'd never heard Matio laugh before, not a genuine laugh of pleasure. It was a bright, child-like sound.

Matio paddled to the edge of the pool and set his bow and arrows, knife, and cloak up on the grassy bank. Then he pushed away from the edge and floated on his back, still cheerfully calling up to Obi-Wan. "Come in! Just don't jump too far, that's all. As strong as you are, you're liable to miss the rocks and the pool as well!"

Obi-Wan hesitated a moment longer, then gave a mental shrug. "Watch out!" he yelled, then backed up a bit, ran, and jumped.

Hitting the water was like a shock of liquid ice, coolness flowing over and through him. He surfaced with a gasp, laughing as Matio had. Then he turned his face away as the smaller boy splashed him, pushing two handfuls of water into his face. Still he laughed, and splashed back, which of course led to an all-out water fight.

When both were breathless and gasping, Obi-Wan pulled away and swam to the bank to deposit the supplies, his boots, robe, and lightsaber, after checking the laser sword to make sure it was all right. They were technically waterproof, but he couldn't take a chance. This was his only weapon, his only means of protection for both himself and Matio. Satisfied, he pushed back into the pool to thoroughly enjoy the water, as Matio was already doing.

Later they sprawled on the bank, resting, having skinned out of their tunics but left their trousers on in unspoken agreement. They were close friends already, but not that close. Obi-Wan checked over the supplies, reflecting ruefully that he should have remembered that the med kit wasn't waterproof.

"Any damage?" asked Matio, as he draped his tunic and cloak over a few low branches to dry. He stooped over Obi-Wan's garments, his hand hovering, and waited for the Jedi's nod before scooping those up as well and spreading them out to dry in the late afternoon sunlight.

"The self-sealing bandages are soaked," Obi-Wan said. "How's the one on your shoulder? It looks all right."

Matio ran his fingers over it lightly. "It still feels as if it is part of my skin. Self-sealing, you said? A marvelous thing."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I hope we don't need to replace it. These are useless now."

"No worries." Matio plopped down in the mist-wet grass with a contented sigh. "It feels wonderful to be clean again. Your sword was not damaged? I noticed you check it earlier."

"No." Obi-Wan lifted the cylinder to his eye, checked it over critically, dried it on a clump of nearby leaves. "I could swim to the bottom of a lake and it would still be functional. But if the activated blade touches water, it shorts out, and it's useless until I can repair it."

Matio's eyes were still fastened to the lightsaber handle as Obi-Wan rolled it lazily over his fingers. "May . . . may I hold it?" he asked hesitantly. His eyes flicked to the Jedi's face, and he immediately recanted. "No, never mind, I can see that it is most precious to you. It must be a great measure of trust, for a Jedi to allow another to touch his sword."

Obi-Wan's hand had instinctively tightened around his lightsaber at the original question, but he made himself relax. "You're right. A Jedi's lightsaber is his or her most prized possession, the only one we carry with us wherever we go, and feel lost without. I made this 'saber in my twelfth year, while I was waiting to be chosen as a Padawan. It is a long process, making a lightsaber, and a Jedi has to pour a lot of concentration and will into the task. Each one is unique."

Matio nodded thoughtfully. "I have not yet received my own sword. When Seeker Wari and I finally return to the city, to present me to the Seekers' council and get their official confirmation of my apprenticeship, we will visit Wari's friend, Okan Cerno, a renowned smith. I will help in the making of a tibian sword, and be the first to touch its hilt, and when I lift it for the first time, I will know its name." He blinked and smiled slightly, coming out of the reverie. "For now though, I have my bow and arrows."

"And you use them very well indeed," Obi-Wan said earnestly. He looked at the lightsaber in his hand for a moment longer, then gently laid it in Matio's smaller hand. "The button by your thumb," he said, pointing. "Press it once to activate, twice to deactivate."

"So you won't accidentally lose the blade in battle." Matio did not see Obi-Wan's nod, staring at the blue blade as it snap-hissed into existence, humming low with power. The light reflected strangely in his forest-hazel eyes as he turned it this way and that, and swept it very carefully through the air. His smile was broad but quiet, delighted and awed.

He deactivated the lightsaber and placed it reverently in Obi-Wan's hand. "That was amazing. Thank you."

"You didn't seem amazed before," Obi-Wan said. "I mean, when I first met you. From what you've told me about your world, I would expect you to be surprised by the technology here. But you accept everything as a matter of course."

Matio shrugged, then winced a little as the movement sent a twinge through the injured shoulder. "We have swords that glow of their own light in my world, too. And jewels that allow those with a strong connection to communicate across distances. My talent is not the only one—some have talents of healing, or fighting, or moving as you do. But these things are much more rare on Madra. Are they common in this universe?"

"Well, the technology is. But Jedi . . . Jedi are fairly rare. There are not enough of us to mend all the troubles of this galaxy."

"Pity." Matio smiled suddenly, his eyes lighting from within. "I'm glad I met you, Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"And I'm glad I met you, Matio, apprentice to Seeker Wari."

Matio suddenly scrambled to his feet, his eyes widening. "Oh, fewmets," he breathed. "We're in trouble, Obi-Wan. Something's coming this way."

Obi-Wan jumped up, clutching the lightsaber in his fist. He could feel the threat, too, and it turned the inside of his chest to ice. "What is it?"

"Something big. Something really big. And we've invaded its territory. It's not at all happy."

 _Sith._ Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber, turning in a slow circle to pinpoint the source of the danger. There, from the west, rapidly approaching—and big, really big. The Jedi could hear wood cracking as the approaching creature shoved through.

"Fewmets. I hope we don't have to kill it." Matio had already slung his quiver over his shoulder. He held his bow in his teeth and leaped for a tree, climbing rapidly. Ten meters up the trunk he straddled a thick branch, stringing the bow in one quick motion. "I can see it, Obi-Wan!" he called. "It's not very smart. I don't think I'll be able to ward it off with trickery."

Obi-Wan faced the coming threat, lightsaber held ready in both hands. In just another moment he could see it, too. "Sith! What's a rancor doing on this planet?" Grimly, he quelled his rising panic. He would need all the control and strength he had for this battle.

And then the enraged, slavering creature was upon them.


	6. Noble Order

Obi-Wan could feel Matio reaching out with his will, trying to warn the rancor back, make it think that this area was dangerous. It was not the Force, not this talent from another world, but the Jedi could feel the echoes of its working through the Force. He could tell by Matio's confidence and skill that this technique had worked before, had saved Matio's life and others'.

But Matio had foreseen correctly—it wasn't working this time. The rancor advanced, roaring with the stink of rotting meat, nostrils flaring and running mucus. It seemed to be trying to decide whether to first attack the boy in the tree or the boy on the ground.

Matio was vulnerable up in that tree, unable to jump aside to dodge the swinging claws. Obi-Wan ran forward, yelling to draw the enraged carnivore's attention. "Hey! Down here! Look at me! I'm down here!"

The rancor swung toward him, swiped a claw-laden fist at him. Obi-Wan leaped easily aside, the wind of the claws' passing ruffling his short hair. He jumped forward again, jabbing the lightsaber at the tree-like leg before him. It didn't go all the way through, and he retreated quickly, cursing under his breath. This thing was tough.

Matio's arrows bounced off the rancor's head. "Fewmets!" he yelled. "Obi-Wan, it has skin like armor!"

_No kidding,_  Obi-Wan thought, but did not waste breath for a reply. Completely focused on bringing the rancor to its knobby "knees," he lunged forward, slicing again, determined to cut down the leg in front of him. The 'saber went through a little farther, hitting bone, and the roar of rage changed to pain.

Obi-Wan sprang back again in satisfaction, the lightsaber in his hand humming a pleased note. Too late he saw the flailing claws swinging for him again. He dodged— _too slow!—_ and caught a corner of a claw to his temple. Even that glancing blow was enough to send him sailing back and away, dazed, limp in the air, and he landed in the pool. The water parted with a  _crack_  like a blaster shot. Then he was beneath the surface, blue ice over and through him once again. It was not refreshing this time, but terrifying, because he could not make his body react, could not pull himself back to the realm of air and life.

He could feel Matio's distress, hear an echo of a voice muffled by the weight of water, shouting, "Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan!". The rancor wailed in agony, and the world shook as it fell. Obi-Wan struggled uselessly, his muscles responding to his orders to swim to the surface with confused jerks and bobbles. He couldn't hold on much longer; the blue world was turning grey at the edges . . . .

Another splash, a cloud of bubbles, and a slim arm circled Obi-Wan's bare chest like a band of durasteel.  _Come, my friend, back to the light,_  he thought he heard a gentle voice murmur in his ear, but surely that was impossible. Then his head broke the surface, and he drew in deep, grateful gulps of air. Strong arms pushed him up on the bank, and he fought his way onto his hands and knees, vomiting water, blinking rapidly, slowly regaining control of his body.

He turned his head to stare at the beautiful pool that had almost killed him. Matio surfaced briefly, offered Obi-Wan an encouraging smile, and dove again. Obi-Wan turned his head the other way, struggling to comprehend what had happened. The rancor's body lay there, half in the pool and half out, steam rising from the stinking flesh, an arrow up to its feathers in the tiny eye.

Obi-Wan sank into a sitting position just as Matio appeared again, holding the dripping lightsaber. He crawled up on the bank and presented it wordlessly to his friend. The Jedi studied his weapon morosely. It was shorted out, useless.

"I'm sorry, Matio. I wanted to protect you and help you. Doing a lousy job so far."

"Nonsense. Alone I would have fared very badly against that monster. Come, you're wounded. Let's get a bit farther away from this place and make a fire."

This time it was the Seeker who supported the Jedi, walking slowly through the woods as evening shades fell. Matio also carried their supplies, and the still-damp garments. Obi-Wan could not prevent the waves of guilt and shame that now and then oppressed him, but he was entirely unable to regain his full strength. The blow had caused more than momentary dizziness. He probably had a fairly serious concussion, he realized glumly.

"Now, now, there is no need to torment yourself so," Matio scolded gently. "No harm has been done, besides to your poor head. It is my pleasure to help you as you have helped me. You are a brave and true young man, a grand testimony to the noble order that is the Jedi, and I am honored that you consider me your friend. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Come, sit and lean against this tree, and I'll build a fire as swiftly as it can be done."

Which was very swiftly indeed, with Matio making it happen. Obi-Wan was barely aware of the cold beginning to creep up on him when abruptly he found himself blinking at warm flames beginning to catch on a log. Matio fussed over the robe for a moment, but it was almost all the way dry. He wrapped it around the young Jedi, then hung the other garments up to dry more thoroughly.

"You have a small cut on your forehead, friend," Matio said, kneeling beside him with the med kit in hand. "But that's not all that's wrong, yes? I understand. My father hit me too hard, once, when he was drunk. I was insensible for almost two days, and then could barely move for a week. He was sorry, that time, and tried to take care of me. Later he wasn't sorry at all, no matter how badly he hurt me. You rest now, and perhaps you'll feel better in the morning."

Obi-Wan was touched by the tenderness with which Matio bound the cut, smoothing bacta over it and wrapping it with gauze still damp from the pool. He also was strangely affected by Matio's absolute lack of self-consciousness as he took care of Obi-Wan and their campsite, still bare from the waist up but not at all embarrassed by the many scars he thus revealed. The young archer had completely forgotten about himself and his own precarious situation. He continued talking, sharing experiences that Obi-Wan felt sure he had never told anyone about before, not even his beloved Seeker Wari. All in an effort to comfort Obi-Wan, keep him awake, give him time to recollect himself.

"Matio . . ." Obi-Wan began, and was dismayed to hear his voice slur slightly. The smaller boy gave him his complete attention, halting his movement and gazing steadily at the young Jedi. "Matio . . . what does 'fewmets' mean? Just out of curiosity." That wasn't quite what he had meant to ask. His mind was not working correctly.

To his surprise, the boy blushed deeply. "Dragon droppings," he said in a low voice. Then more loudly and clearly, "What does 'Sith' mean?"

"Dark Jedi. Force-users who have turned evil. The worst thing in the galaxy, really." Obi-Wan shifted against the tree, pulling his robe around his shoulders. He remembered the question he'd wanted to ask. "Why did you say that you hoped we wouldn't have to kill the rancor? It would have killed us, but you seemed sad."

The young archer continued to look at him steadily. "Because I love them. All animals, even the ones in this universe who feel strange and do not connect with me in the same way. All are beautiful and wonderful, and it hurts me to take away their lives."

"Even those big grey creatures, like the one that bit your shoulder? Even the thing you shot for our breakfast?"

"Yes. It hurts. Every time, it hurts. But I have learned that some things are necessary. Even though I would rather live on plants, I need the nourishment of meat. And many of the animals I love are predators, too. Still, every death hurts me."

Obi-Wan held himself in silence. Then he straightened his back against the trunk behind him and spoke firmly and clearly. "Matio, you are a brave and true young man, a grand testimony to the noble order that is the Seekers, and I am honored that you consider me your friend."

The boy smiled broadly, that gift of sunlight from another realm far above this one.

The Jedi sighed and let himself slump again. "I'm going to go into a healing trance now. It will seem like I'm dead, but I'll still be breathing, just very slowly, all right? By tomorrow morning I'll be fine."

Matio nodded. "I'll watch over you."

Obi-wan smiled, then let his eyes drift shut, slowly sliding down to lay by the fire. He knew that Matio would keep his promise. They had nothing to worry about, at least until morning . . . .

Qui-Gon and Wari had met and vanquished a pack of the large grey carnivores Wari called "wolves" and Qui-Gon called "malia," though neither term was entirely correct. They had been forced to deviate from their course when a deep canyon intervened, making them lose almost an hour as they traveled east until the canyon narrowed enough to jump. They had talked with great animation, sharing, discussing, even arguing in friendly debate. Both had admitted to feeling instant kinship with each other on first sight, and they agreed that Seekers and Jedi had a great deal in common.

All in all, it was the most pleasurable journey either had made for a very long time.

Suddenly they realized that they had halted, gazing away into the middle distance, their thoughts far away.

"Something is happening," Qui-Gon murmured.

"A battle," Wari agreed. "Matio is worried, afraid, but confident of his friend's abilities."

"Obi-Wan is dismayed . . . he hadn't expected this. A rancor."

Both gasped.

"Obi-Wan is hurt!"

"Matio is terrified for him."

They looked at each other. Qui-Gon's eyes were wide. Wari's lips were pale.

Then the Seeker sighed. "Matio has killed the monster—he's trying to rescue Obi-Wan."

A moment later Qui-Gon wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. "Safe. He's all right. Wounded, but not badly."

Wari seemed to be struggling to comprehend everything that had happened. "Our bond is still very new—I only feel Matio's emotions when something dire is happening. This is more than I ever felt before, more clear, more detailed."

Qui-Gon nodded. "If bonds of the spirit work in your universe the way they do here, this will only deepen every day. And it will continually surprise you."

Without another word they hurried on, neither truly aware of their surroundings.

"I should have been there," Wari murmured. "Somehow, I should have been able to stop all of this. I promised . . . I promised Matio that he would be safe with me. How little I knew . . . ."

Qui-Gon gave his companion a look of sorrow and sympathy. Indeed, they had much in common. More than they had realized, even with all of this open-hearted sharing.

"It isn't right," the Seeker said with quiet fierceness. "Always, always when we fail, when the men and women of the world who ought to be noble forsake the good, when we let the darkness overcome the light . . ." He sighed. "It is always the children who suffer the most."

"Yes," the Jedi murmured sadly. "It is the children who suffer."

"Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan, you need to wake now! Please, Obi-Wan, wake! Obi-Wan, please!"

It was Matio's voice, full of a deep terror Obi-Wan had never heard there before. Something was wrong.

"Please wake, Obi-Wan! Obi-W—!"

There was the sound of a blow, and Matio's voice stopped. Obi-Wan brought himself out of the trance more quickly than he'd ever done it, ready to jump to his feet the moment he opened his eyes—

But he could not. He was sitting upright, bound to a tree.

Obi-Wan stared wildly around the camp. There on the other side of the fire crouched a man. A man holding a knife to Matio's throat. The young archer was struggling for breath, and blood trickled from a small cut above his eyebrow. His eyes, wide with fear, wildly sought the Jedi's face, and thick, cruel ropes bound him hand and foot. "Obi-Wan . . ." he whispered.

The man whirled to impale Obi-Wan with his dark gaze. He was completely ordinary, absolutely nondescript, brown hair, brown eyes, average height and build . . . just a few pockmark scars on his face, and a long one, like a whipmark, crossing his forehead and disappearing into his hair. Such a very normal-looking person. But Obi-Wan knew who he was.

The assassin, traitor, murderer: Farig Solma.


	7. Shadowhand

Farig Solma's eyes were bland at first, as unremarkable and boring as any eyes the Jedi had ever seen. But his gaze quickly sharpened, and a strange smile played on his lips. "Ah, the young native awakes. Did you sleep well, kid?"

Obi-Wan struggled convulsively against his bonds as the man stepped over to crouch beside him, still playing with that long, thin knife. The ropes were too tight, the knots too complex, and he could not gather enough concentration to use the Force. His head still throbbed—the trance had been interrupted before he'd finished healing.

"You're a Jedi," their captor said, musing, trailing a finger down Obi-Wan's cheek. The Padawan jerked his head away, and the man smiled in amusement. "What name shall I give you, Jedi? What name shall you give me? I am Farig Solma, Siir Mogran, Namágol, the Shadowhand, George Colburn, a dozen others—more names in more worlds than you have yet seen, will ever see. And who are you?"

"Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi," he spat. "Let Matio go!"

"No."

Without seeming to move, the knife was suddenly at Obi-Wan's throat, sharp point just barely penetrating the skin. Obi-Wan held himself still, struggling for control.

"Let him go!" Matio cried. "It's me you want! He's done nothing to you. He's never lied to you or kept you from getting something you want. Take me and leave him alone!"

Farig Solma sat back on his heels, still holding the knife to the Jedi's neck, and glanced at his younger captive. "That's true," he said quietly.

Obi-Wan felt blood trickling into his collar. "You won't win," he said between gritted teeth. "Matio is under Jedi protection now. I won't let you hurt him."

Solma turned back to stare at him, laughing softly. "And you've done such a wonderful job so far," he said in the most loathsomely condescending tone Obi-Wan had ever heard, like a silly adult talking to a toddler, heaping praise for correct use of the 'fresher. He paused, his gaze sharply curious. "Why did you let me catch you?"

His gaze flicked to Matio. "I lost you. For days, I had no idea where you were. Your legendary skills as a woodsman are true to life—you disappeared into the forest, and I found no trace. And then I saw the escape pod falling from the sky, and traced it out of curiosity, and found the site of battle with arrows and lightsaber burns scattered indiscriminately about. Catching you was so frightfully easy, then. You weren't even trying to hide."

He looked back at Obi-Wan, smiling broadly, teeth glowing yellow in the firelight. "I must thank you for distracting him. I might never have caught the boy without your interference."

Obi-Wan fought wildly against the ropes again, not caring about the knife, not caring about anything but stopping this demonic man before he laid another finger on Matio. Solma backed away, still laughing softly, contemptuously, knowing that he was making the Jedi's blood boil and delighting in his power to do so.

"That's not true!" Matio protested, his voice choked. "I should have been keeping watch, I fell asleep—it wasn't your fault, Obi-Wan! Don't listen to him!"

Solma knelt for a moment between the two boys, his gaze flicking between them, darkly playful. "Suddenly I have such a large number of interesting ideas . . ."

Matio subsided into a strangled silence, staring pleadingly at his captor. "Let Obi-Wan go," he whispered.

"But it would be such fun to take turns, see how you reacted to each other's pain. Do you remember, little brat, how I was going to torture a rock lion cub and make you watch? That was the thing that broke you, in the end. You wouldn't let me hurt it. You can't stop me now, of course—I don't want information from you, I want screams. Shall I gather a few animals from the forest and see how their agony affects you? I am most curious about this talent of yours, this bond with animals."

"I have no bond with the animals of the universe," Matio said instantly. "I would not feel their pain. It is the same with Obi-Wan—we are not close friends, we have no bond."

The assassin bit his thumbnail, mockingly, as if thinking it over. "I think you're lying."

"No," Matio said, staring his tormentor in the eyes. "This universe is completely different. My bond with animals is not the same. I won't feel their pain. Do what you want to me, but leave Obi-Wan out of it."

The Shadowhand shrugged. "Oh, very well. I'm going to kill you slowly and painfully. I suppose I can grant you one last request." He gave the Jedi a full-toothed grin. "Besides, this one is too dangerous to be dragging around with us. We need privacy."

He stood in one smooth motion, sheathing his knife on his belt. Then he bent, lifted Matio, threw him over his shoulder, and walked away. Matio raised his head to look back at Obi-Wan. "Don't follow," he whispered.

And they were gone.

Obi-Wan struggled against the ropes again, until exhaustion turned the strong jerks and pulls of his arms into half-hearted wriggles. Abruptly he made himself relax and lay limp, fighting to make his mind work. If only his lightsaber hadn't shorted out, he could call it to his hand and cut the ropes . . . no, he could not think about that! He had no time for regrets. He had to find something that would help him escape, quickly.

The young Jedi closed his eyes and breathed deeply and slowly, finding a way past the pounding of his heart and the throbbing of his head, past the deep ache in his stomach when he remembered that last look from Matio, the desperation shining in the green-brown eyes that were always so cool and clear. He found his calm center, drew his concentration about himself in a blanket of purpose. This was not the time for fear, for anger, for anything but strength and control. It had been the will of the Force that he and Qui-Gon would crash on this planet, that he would meet this boy and save him from evil. That was why Obi-Wan was here. That had to be his focus.

He drew his awareness in tight, studying the ropes that wound about his chest, his arms, the tree, fastened in enormous, complex knots designed to tighten with any pressure. They were very tight indeed, now. He might be able to loosen them telekinetically, but it would take time, more than Obi-Wan was willing to spare.

Slowly he allowed his awareness to expand, searching for anything that would help him get free. Fire: too dangerous. Rocks: not sharp enough. But there on the other side of the fire . . .

Namágol had stripped Matio of his weapons. The little skinning knife lay on the ground, still in its sheath on the young archer's discarded belt. Quickly and smoothly, Obi-Wan used the Force to draw it, and it flew to his hand, which was held against his chest by the thick ropes.

Only a few minutes of sawing, and Obi-Wan was free. He jumped to his feet, shrugging the ropes off, and reeled dizzily. Sith. He'd forgotten about the head wound.

Obi-Wan leaned against the tree with one hand to keep from falling and closed his eyes, waiting for the pounding in his head to subside. It wasn't that bad. He could handle it. His mind and body were under his control again. It was just a headache . . . . Quickly he drew in the Force to deaden the pain. He had more important things to deal with.

After a moment he was able straighten up, though sweat trickled down his temples. He grabbed his tunic from the branch Matio had draped it over, intending to pull it on as he ran.

"Obi-Wan!"

The young Jedi turned just a bit too quickly, and reeled again. Then he blinked incredulously, believing his vision had doubled. No, it really was two people, Qui-Gon and a man who could have been his brother, with the same broad shoulders, dark beard, and concerned expression.

Qui-Gon ran the few meters separating them and grabbed Obi-Wan's shoulders. "Padawan! Are you all right? What happened? We felt anxiety, terror, pain—"

"S-Solma," Obi-Wan managed. He could not tear his eyes away from Qui-Gon's companion. They looked very much alike . . . but no, this man was younger, leaner, his nose was bigger, his hair was darker, and his face was much more weather-beaten, tanned by sun and roughened by wind. "He took, took Matio . . ." His eyes flew back to his master's face, wide and frantic. "We have to hurry! They went that way!"

"One moment," Qui-Gon said. "We'll find him, Obi-Wan, don't fear." He placed a hand against the bandage on the Padawan's forehead and closed his eyes. Obi-Wan sighed as the pain faded, disappeared, and his legs steadied beneath him.

Seeker Wari, for it had to be Matio's guardian and teacher, it could be no one else, was hurrying about the fire gathering his apprentice's things and wrapping them in a bundle. He stood straight, his gaze piercing the young Jedi. "How long has it been?"

"Fifteen or twenty minutes," Obi-Wan said, his voice under control again, though agitation roiled beneath. "We can still catch them. But we ought to put out the fire."

"Put on your tunic, Padawan," Qui-Gon said quietly. "It's cold out tonight." As his student obeyed, slipping the double layer over his head and pulling the robe on again, the Jedi Master turned toward the fire, allowing the Seeker to light a torch in it first. A burst of Force suppression, and the fire was smothered out of existence. "All right, Obi-Wan, lead the way."

Obi-Wan took a few running steps into the forest, then realized that it was pitch-black and he could not see. He turned back, feeling his face flush. "My, my lightsaber . . . I fell in the pool . . . sorry, Master."

Qui-Gon wordlessly handed him his own 'saber, brilliant green blade illuminating the trees around. The Seeker staggered suddenly, a cry bursting from his lips, the torch nearly falling from fingers abruptly limp with shock. Qui-Gon whirled and snatched the torch, catching the man's shoulder with his other hand.

"What's wrong, Wari?" he asked, though the two Jedi had a bad feeling that they already knew the answer..

"He's hurting him!"

The Shadowhand wasn't wasting any time. Obi-Wan sucked in a breath and continued into the dark wood, praying that he was going the right way. After a few moments he halted again, panting. He turned to look at the two men, dread tightening his chest, defeat slumping his shoulders.

"I don't know . . . I can't track . . . I can feel Matio's pain, but I don't know where to go!"

Wari briefly squeezed his eyes shut, his lips thinning in private agony, and then he opened them to look at the Jedi again. "I am not a woodsman," he whispered. "Matio can track anything, but I am . . . oh, Matio . . ."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. I don't see any signs. I found you, Padawan, by tracing our bond through the Force. It was like a beacon, a line connecting us, and I followed it. But the Seekers' bond does not work in the same way."

"You said that you feel Matio's pain?" the Seeker asked, stormy eyes seeming to pierce through the young Jedi. "Is it possible that you could have formed a bond in only two days?"

Obi-Wan's lips felt cold and numb. "I, I don't know." He remembered all the times the two apprentices had saved each others' lives, the words he had thought he'd heard in the pool, the swiftness with which Matio had denied his bond with animals and with Obi-Wan in an attempt to deter the assassin. "I . . . I think we have. Strange . . . but, yes. Yes. I feel him. It is not strong enough to follow, though. How . . . ?"

The Seeker held out his hand, his gaze not leaving the Padawan's face. "Do you trust me? You have only known me for a few moments. Will you join your spirit with mine?"

Obi-Wan stared.

"It is a great thing I ask, I know." Still Wari did not lower his hand. His eyes pleaded more eloquently than any words could have.

This was Matio's Seeker Wari, the man who had saved him from a life that was a nightmare, who had coaxed him out of a shell of fear and taught him to love and trust again. Without this man's kindness and gentleness paving the way, Matio probably would never have dared even to speak to Obi-Wan, much less share the burdens of his soul with him. The young Jedi was not sure how he knew all of this, but he knew it was true.

Without a tremor, Obi-Wan took his hand.


	8. Bonds of the Spirit

Obi-Wan's sense of the Force changed, and he could tell by Wari's gasp that his Second Sight had changed, too. The Padawan was not sure quite how it had happened, but their gifts had combined with an alacrity that startled them both, leaping forward to entwine joyfully, as if this was meant to be. He saw Wari's world, saw through his eyes how he and Matio had met, the way they had been bound together, and saved each other. Wari, he knew, was seeing the parallel road he and Qui-Gon had traveled, completely different yet oddly similar. Was there a pair like them in every universe?

There was no time to examine it, no time to speculate, not with Matio's cry echoing in their ears. Together the Seeker and the Padawan faced the dark forest, searching for a sign of the boy they longed to rescue. The Living Force surged in the trees and plants, leaped from small animals and birds, shimmered in the very air. It was a bright, shining white, overwhelmingly beautiful. And there in the air hung a thread of pure gold, shining yet more brightly than the Living Force, and that was the thread that bound them to Matio.

Wari and Obi-Wan ran, distantly aware that they were stumbling over roots and underbrush, that Obi-Wan was using Qui-Gon's lightsaber to cut down branches that blocked their path. The Jedi Master followed at their heels, but they barely felt him. Only one thing mattered.

Obi-Wan was never sure, afterward, how long they ran like that. It could have been forever. It could have been a single heartbeat. Both felt Matio's pain and despair beating with their heartbeat, rushing in their ears. The Shadowhand was hurting that innocent lad. This had to be stopped  _now._

At some point Wari had drawn his big metal sword, and it too shone faintly gold. The forest night was bright in their eyes, brighter than cloudless day. The heart-call spurred them on, and all other sounds were muted.

Then suddenly they were halted, stymied, as the thread disappeared. They released each other's hands, gasping, and reality rushed in. The three warriors stood at the entrance of a cave, blocked off by a huge boulder. The first hints of dawn were beginning to tinge the sky above. Matio and the Shadowhand were inside that cave.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon said urgently, stepping forward and placing his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. The Force flowed between them, and they combined their strength to levitate the boulder and send it tumbling away, crashing through the trees as it rolled down a slight rise.

"By the Golden Eagle!" Wari bellowed, rushing into the cave. "Face me, Namágol!"

The Jedi began to follow, but before they could react a man roughly pushed his way out of the cave, almost knocking Obi-Wan to the ground in his eagerness to escape. "Don't let him get away!" Wari yelled.

The Jedi ran after the Shadowhand, a dark figure barely visible before them. Obi-Wan became aware of his legs trembling beneath him again, and he deactivated the lightsaber and tossed it to his master. He knew that Qui-Gon would handle it better, even holding the torch in his other hand. Farig Solma sprinted as if all the terrors of the galaxy were at his heels, and, incredibly, his lead increased. Fury surged in Obi-Wan's heart, and he fought to release it into the Force. They couldn't let him escape!

At the top of a slight rise Namágol abruptly turned to face them, drawing a large red amulet from his tunic, laughing in triumph. Qui-Gon halted, heels digging into the dirt, and put his arm across Obi-Wan's chest to arrest his headlong rush. He remembered what Wari had said about that glowing jewel.

Obi-Wan's chest heaved against Qui-Gon's arm. "Master, we can catch him, we can—"

"No, Padawan. Patience."

"You'll never stop me!" Solma yelled. "I can go anywhere, be anything! You saved that pitiful child this time, but you're only postponing the inevitable. I'll catch him and take him away and do as I please. I'll never stop chasing him!"

Obi-Wan winced as the Shadowhand intoned a guttural incantation. The words were full of evil power, and he felt the Dark Side of the Force dancing in glee. Qui-Gon urged him back, out of the radius of the amulet's influence, and they watched the Living Force of the plants and animals all about being drawn to the red jewel, bound about it, and then obliterated.

The Padawan flinched from the flash of light and fell to his knees as he felt the life being wiped out, a scream of terror and pain echoing in his mind from the Living Force, followed by deathly silence. A huge blank spot stood before them, nothing but dirt and rock, every trace of green erased as if it had never been. He wanted to weep and pound the ground in frustration.

"Master," he gasped, rubbing a hand over his mouth, feeling a trickle of blood from the corner. "What was that?"

"An evil from another universe," Qui-Gon said in a low voice, helping Obi-Wan to his feet. "One I hope we never encounter again. It is not meant to be here."

"But, but he'll go after Matio again . . ."

"He will not succeed," the Jedi Master said with great confidence, his steady gaze offering strength. He smiled suddenly. "You are the one more often gifted with premonitions of the future, Padawan. Do you not see it?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and steadied himself, Qui-Gon's hand on his shoulder pouring waves of light into his shaken spirit. He found his calm center again, and was finally able to relax as he saw Matio as a man, a mighty Seeker in the world called Madra, fighting with great skill and strength, great tenderness and compassion, to better the lives of everyone around him. At last he nodded. "Yes, I see it. The Shadowhand will never have his way." He managed a shaky laugh. "I almost wish I could see the look on his face when he realizes that all of those proud boasts were empty and foolish . . ."

Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder. "Perhaps you will. Come on, let's get back to our friends."

They walked back to the cave as swiftly as they could, but Obi-Wan spared the breath to give his master a brief summary of all that had happened since their ship crashed. As he did, he found his strength and joy returning. He and Matio had had a good time together, he was a bit surprised to realize. It had been painful and dangerous, true, but also incredibly enjoyable. They had given each other a lot—more, Obi-Wan knew, than he was able to recognize even now. Years from now he would still remember these two days, finding unexpected insight, and unexpected laughter, in the memories.

The world was light grey in the dawn when they arrived back at the cave. Wari sat just outside the entrance, cradling Matio in his arms. The boy's eyes were closed, his face shone with sweat, and he held his arms folded close against his body as if to shield his hands hidden in his tunic. The Seeker looked up at them, agony in his dark grey eyes.

Obi-Wan's heart sank toward his stomach, and he knelt beside the pair in sympathy. Matio was conscious, he could tell, but unwilling to open his eyes and face the world. Even in that short time, Namágol had done something horrible to him, and the pain still echoed through their faint, barely-there bond, sharp and unrelenting.

The Seeker was whispering to his boy, had been since before the Jedi arrived. "You're safe now, Matio. I came. I'm here. I'm never going to let you go. You're safe. He won't touch you again. I've got you. You're safe, Matio. I'm here . . ."

"Matio," Obi-Wan murmured, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. "What happened? What did he do?"

Matio squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, one tear escaping as he shuddered. The Seeker's arms clenched about him, pressing him even closer than before, and the boy opened his eyes, clouded and dazed. "He . . . he broke my hands . . . ."

He turned slightly to face the Jedi, golden-brown head tucked beneath the Seeker's dark beard. Slowly, he drew his trembling hands away from his chest and held them out. A horrified gasp escaped Wari, and he reached up and gently folded his large, callused hands around his apprentice's small, shattered ones. He carefully lowered them into the boy's lap, keeping a loose, cradling grip, trying to support without applying pressure. Matio let his hands rest on his guardian's and sighed softly, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to look.

Obi-Wan stared in disbelief. There were a lot of little bones in the human hand, and all of Matio's had been broken, some twice. Bone had punctured the skin in places, and blood ran in sticky smears, some of it starting to dry.

"I, I'll never draw a bow again," Matio murmured. "Never hold a sword. Never . . . be a Seeker. He took it all away from me."

The Jedi saw by Wari's tears that this was the truth. In their world, they did not have the medical knowledge and tools to repair this cruel injury. Obi-Wan's little med kit had nothing for this. It was going to cause Matio weeks of terrible pain, and it would never fully heal. He was crippled for life.

"No." Obi-Wan refused to believe it. He had  _seen_  Matio as a Seeker. "No, Matio. We're going to give it back to you."

With infinite tenderness, he laid his hands over the young archer's broken ones. Then he felt Qui-Gon's large palms cover the backs of his hands, and Wari's fingers curl upward to meet both of them, and he smiled at the two masters and closed his eyes.

Again the white and the gold blended together, and the power of one universe met the power of another. None of the three were gifted in healing, but this was a task meant to be done, and it was not difficult to find the way. A friendly will guided them, whether that of the Force, or of Wari and Matio's High King, or whether both were the same Will, none could say. Gently they poured Light into the wounds, guiding the splintered bones to join and mend, the tortured blood vessels and nerves to twine together, repair, grow strong. They gave their all to the restoration of their young friend, and their all was received, and was enough.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and felt the morning sunlight shining full upon his face. The three withdrew, leaving Matio staring in awe at his hands. They were completely whole and trembling delicately —young, slender hands with the thick calluses of an archer on fingers and thumb, too broad for the narrow wrists in indication of further growth ahead, a soft, warm peach color that almost glowed in the new light. He flexed them in astonishment, turned them over, curled his fingers inward again.

Then he turned sideways against the Seeker's chest with a weary, contented sigh. The first thing he chose to do with his newly-healed hands was to grip the fabric of Wari's tunic in a child-like gesture of security and trust, the way a little one wakened from a nightmare would grip his father's nightshirt. And he promptly fell asleep.

They spent the rest of the day recuperating. Obi-Wan finally used the fire-starting rod from the emergency kit. Qui-Gon, to Obi-Wan's astonishment, turned out to be pretty good with a bow and arrow, and he bagged a couple of the "rabbit" things and roasted them with a few herbs he refused to name, calling it a "secret recipe." That phrase always scared Obi-Wan, and he shivered and said that he wanted no part of it. Qui-Gon laughed infuriatingly loud and long, and explained himself by simply saying, "I missed you, Obi-Wan."

Wari sat by the fire, still holding his sleeping apprentice. He shook his head at all suggestions to lay the boy down, even when both Jedi offered to spread their robes to make the ground a bit more comfortable.

"Please understand," the Seeker explained softly when they finally began to eat, saving the most tender parts for Matio. "He's never let me hold him before." He smiled at Obi-Wan. "I sense that I have you to thank for the change. You have my gratitude."

Obi-Wan grinned and ducked his head, blushing. He certainly hoped that he'd been able to help Matio in some way. The boy had done a lot for him.

Wari sighed and laid his cheek on the boy's golden-brown curls, his storm-grey eyes far away. "He always pushed me away before, even when he was in terrible pain of body and heart. He was afraid: afraid of his father, of me, of himself—afraid to need me."

He lowered his eyes, speaking directly to the sleeping boy. "There is no need to be afraid, young one. Do you understand? There is no shame in needing to be comforted, no shame in being young and small and hurt by forces beyond your control. You have suffered more and come out stronger than anyone I've ever met, and it is my deepest joy and privilege to be here for you now. Please don't take that honor from me, my dear apprentice. It is the greatest pleasure I have ever experienced in my life as a Seeker. Do you understand, my brave Matio, son of my heart? Is everything entirely clear to you now?"

Matio's eyelids fluttered, and his hand tightened in the fabric over Wari's chest as if to pull him closer. "Yes, Seeker," he murmured. "I understand."

Wari smiled. "That's my boy," he whispered. "That's my boy."

Two hours later Matio woke fully, opening forest-hazel eyes, again clear and cool and calm, to blink at the midday sun. Still he did not pull away from Wari, did not leave the circle of the Seeker's arms. The Jedi let them be, gave them time and space for the words they needed to speak to each other. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had spent the morning going through the basic katas and meditating together, allowing all they had experienced on the planet called G481 to become part of them, integrated with the whole of their lives. Now they drew away a little into the trees.

"And how are you, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked, even as the Seeker was no doubt asking a very similar question. "You seem troubled."

Obi-Wan sighed. He knew he wasn't going to be able to get out of this. Qui-Gon would wait until he was ready to talk, but he would never stop pushing until the Padawan shared his burden. He might as well surrender now. "I . . . I failed, Master."

Qui-Gon's forehead wrinkled deeply. "I don't see how."

"I lost my focus in the middle of battle. Twice! The first time Matio saved me, and was hurt. The second time I was hurt, and then Matio saved me. I felt that it was the will of the Force that I help Matio, protect him from that monster who was chasing him. Instead, I distracted him and slowed him down so that Farig Solma caught us. Matio is an amazing woodsman—if we hadn't met, he would been able to escape."

"Is that what Solma told you?"

Obi-Wan nodded guiltily, his eyes on the toe of his boot, absently pushing away the fallen leaves to reveal the damp earth beneath.

"Obi-Wan, you know that we all make mistakes, even Jedi. You are fifteen years old. You still have much to learn. If I had been with you, I would have been the one to cover for your slips in concentration. As I could not be there, I am grateful that another young warrior was at your side and was able to help you. But you failed no one. You performed remarkably well, and your courage and skill—not to mention initiative and compassion in acting completely without instructions—provided a great service to one who was in need. Next time you will do even better."

Obi-Wan nodded slowly, some of his guilt and shame rising from his shoulders to float away into the Force. Still he kept his eye on his toe, now beginning to dig a shallow hole into the dirt.

"Padawan." Qui-Gon's arm circled his shoulders, and Obi-Wan looked up, a bit startled. The Jedi Master grinned and squeezed him close. "You must never regret meeting a friend. I worried about you, you know. I was afraid when I felt that you were wounded, then captured and tormented by that assassin. When I saw you, even though I felt your weariness and pain and terror for your friend, even though that cut on your forehead made we worried all over again—with all that, Padawan, a great surge of joy filled me, just to see you again. You understand that, don't you? Even with all that's happened to us, I have never regretted meeting you and getting to know you. You must never feel that way about Matio. He would not want you to. He would agree that it was worth it all."

The apprentice smiled a trifle wanly. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. There is no benefit in pondering what would have happened if, if, if. But think about it. Matio was running scared. Eventually he would have tired, made mistakes. He was lonely and unprotected, and you can't live on those 'rabbit-things' forever. Eventually Namágol would have caught him. And without you forming that odd little bond with him, without we Jedi crashing here and bringing it all together—if any of a dozen tiny things had gone the slightest bit wrong—the Shadowhand would have had his way. Evil would have triumphed. Do not doubt the will of the Force, my brave Obi-Wan, son of my heart."

Obi-Wan grinned genuinely this time, a brilliant thing that was pure sunlight to his weary teacher, and returned the embrace whole-heartedly. "Thank you, Master," he murmured.

Qui-Gon did not release him until Obi-Wan pulled away first. Then they stood smiling at each other for a moment, standing in the middle of an un-peopled forest under the midday sun of a strange world, completely at home.

Qui-Gon had one more thing to say. "You gave even more than that for Matio. I felt what you did, pouring out your heart for him, to help him. I was very proud of you. I have always been proud of the way you continually bounce back from the worst experiences, ready to face the galaxy and conquer it again. But speaking about it to someone you've known for only a few hours—that's something else entirely. It couldn't have been easy for you."

Obi-Wan considered carefully. "No, it was not easy," he said finally, slowly. "But it was good, Master. This is what being a Jedi means." He spread his hands, a little helplessly, unable to find words to express what he felt.

Qui-Gon nodded warmly. "It means giving of yourself even when it hurts. It means drawing on everything you have experienced, the good with the bad, if it will comfort a hurting person. It means finding meaning in events that seem senseless and evil, finding friendship, sacrifice, even joy, in odd and out-of-the-way places."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan gave him a grateful grin. "How many years do you think it will take me to develop this skill, to throw words together in such a comforting and wise-sounding manner?"

Qui-Gon laughed and aimed a playful swat at his head. "You might not live long enough, scamp!"

Obi-Wan ducked the cuff, still grinning. "I missed you too, Master."

They returned to find the Seekers standing, Wari stretching out muscles cramped by long sitting, Matio calmly eating the meat they had saved for him. The four friends grinned at each other, needing no words to express their gratitude, deep caring, and pleasure with this oasis of peace they had found.

Then was the time for stories. Each took a turn, re-telling their adventures. Obi-Wan told about the battle of the rancor with great animation, making Matio blush at his praise, and the young woodsman retaliated by relating the battle of the wolf-malia creatures, imitating the hum of the lightsaber with credible accuracy, and forcing Obi-Wan to blush in turn. The masters told of their own relatively uneventful journey, and almost got mired in another friendly debate, which they halted abruptly when they realized that the apprentices were staring at them in blank-eyed incomprehension.

They had time for all of the stories, and even more, from earlier adventures—they had time for laughter and private jokes and new ones, even time for heartfelt, slowly-spoken words. Obi-Wan felt that he had to apologize to Matio, and he did, faltering, embarrassed, but determined that his friend should know he felt. Matio was horrified at the very suggestion, and immediately confirmed all that Qui-Gon had said in his own archaic words and strange, pleasant accent. The Seekers thanked the Jedi for their assistance, which had saved them both. The Jedi thanked the Seekers for their friendship and the pleasure of meeting them and learning about their world. They had time for everything that needed to be said, that wanted to be shared.

Late in the afternoon, just when they were beginning to think about finding some supper, Qui-Gon's communicator beeped insistently. He sighed and raised it reluctantly, already knowing who was on the other end. Sure enough, the ship from the Temple was in orbit, ready to pick up the wayward Jedi and take them home.

"Acknowledged," Qui-Gon said, and gave them their coordinates so they could send down a shuttle. "There's just one more thing that needs to be done."

Obi-Wan looked at him curiously when he lowered the communicator, but Wari's eyes were clear and understanding, though sad.

"It is time to go home."

Matio looked at his guardian in confusion, but followed silently as the four made their way to the place Namágol had chosen to exit this universe, the blank spot of dirt and rock, life torn away. They stood in the middle and said their good-byes.

"I'll never forget you."

"Thank you for everything you've given me."

"May the Force be with you."

"May the High King smile upon you and guide your steps."

The boys embraced warmly and unselfconsciously, conveying through touch what they could not say in words. The men clasped each other's forearms in the strong grip of warriors, friends, and equals, thanking and welcoming with a single glance.

One last time the white and the gold joined, doubly strong with Matio's talent joining them. They spread their awareness wide and drew in the Living Force from all points of the compass, gathering just enough to accomplish the needed task without destroying anything. They pulled the threads of power and bound them gently together, four sets of hands working in perfect unity.

A flash of light, gold and white mixed, and the Jedi opened their eyes to find that their friends had gone. They walked away, unable to restrain a small sigh of grief and loss. It was a wide gulf that separated them; they stood on the other side of infinity.

Yet Obi-Wan could feel the tendrils of that new bond, faint and strange, unlike his bond with Qui-Gon, unlike anything either universe had ever seen. He knew that the connection would never fade completely. Perhaps the gulf was not so very wide, after all.

As the Temple shuttle began to descend into the trees, Obi-Wan could not help but glance back at the place they had said farewell to the Seekers. And he could not help but grin. Who knew what the future had in store? Anything was possible.


End file.
